All You Are
by cloverblob
Summary: "Leaving so soon? I'm going to start thinking I'm just your hit-and-quit guy," "That's all you are, Jesse. And it's all you can ever be." Shelby loves Will, she really does, but maybe not enough. Complete.
1. All You Are

**Author's Note:** This is an established Shell story with a St. Corcoran affair. You Shell fans may not be too happy with it. If I continue, it'll get kind of dark later on.

**All You Are**

She gets up off the bed; covers pulled up to her collarbone, covering her bare chest from the cold draft of air in the room. Reaching down towards the carpeted floor, she grips her bra with the ends of her fingers and wraps it around her waist; clipping, then turning it the proper way and pulling the straps up to her shoulders. She puts her face in her hands and exhales when she feels a set of fingers run across the black lace of her bra strap, then tugging it lightly. She turns around at the beckon.

"Hey, leaving so soon? I'm going to start thinking I'm just your hit-and-quit guy," he says, his signature smirk upon his face. He tilts his head slightly towards the pillow, a motion for her to lie back down beside him.

She purses her lips solemnly and shakes her head as she stands up having put her panties back on beneath the comforter, as though shamed of showing him her body in plain daylight. That's not the thing she's ashamed of though. She grabs onto the little black dress she came here in, props it over her head and pulls it on, straightening out the hem as she does. She grabs onto her purse, dropped at the door and puts her hand to the doorknob. She stops for a moment, replaying the words he just said in her head and looks back toward him. "That's all you are, Jesse. And it's all you can ever be."

* * *

"Hey, babe," came a voice from the kitchen, almost intelligible due to the sound of running water.

Shelby took her shoes off at the door, relishing the feeling of her feet of being on equal footing from her previous four inch heels. Then she walked past the threshold of the living room and peered into the kitchen, her head sticking through the door to be met with a wave of heat and a smile.

"I'm making lasagna, you hungry?" Will asked, giving her a toothy grin as he waved at her with an oven mitt on.

"Oh, it smells good. I'm starving," she replied, pushing the door fully open and walking in, giving him a kiss on the cheek. As she pulled away, he cupped the side of her face with his uncovered hand, and their eyes met. He leaned in closer about to capture her lips with his. But briefly, she looked up at him, blinked rapidly then awkwardly turned her head down and towards the stove.

Will seemed a little stunned at the action, not quite sure what the look in her eye meant, but he smiled anyway as though nothing had happened. He had come to the realization a few months back that his girlfriend was a strange and complicated person and decided to just take her as she came, questions better left unasked. "It'll be done in, oh," he paused to look at his watch, "seventeen minutes?"

"Okay, that's-that's good," she nodded, answering distractedly as she stared up at the clock on the wall and headed towards the door again. "I'm going to take a shower," she informed, her animated fingers pointing towards the hallway and she gave a small smile, an assuring gesture. What she was assuring him of, he didn't know.

"'Kay," he replied shortly, returning the smile; looking at the door long after it had already swung closed after her. He shook his head out of his absent-minded state, letting out an exasperated "oh crap" as he opened the oven door to check on their dinner for the evening.

Shelby stood at the bathroom sink as she shrugged out of her dress for the second time in the past two hours. In her underwear, she stood for a good five minutes, her mind flooded with thought as she stared at her own reflection. She leaned in closer to the mirror, and now, up close, she could spot all the little imperfections upon her face. It was the perfect metaphor for her, she thought. She could seem perfect from behind those spotlessly paned windows, but once up close and personal, she was a wreck of a woman.

With a stressed run of a hand through her hair, having undressed completely, Shelby climbed into the tub, turning on the water. She closed the curtain and set the shower on, grabbing onto a bottle of shampoo from the inset of the bathroom wall. This had become a sort of routine for her, the need to shower immediately after she came home. It had to be a routine after the first time, so as not to draw any suspicion or pattern. If Will knew _why_ she had to shower so badly on certain days as opposed to others... well, she couldn't take the chance.

It wasn't a physical need - to clean up so adamantly. It was emotional; like a coping mechanism or something. She was washing away everything she'd done, she was washing _him_ away. It was that simple. If she could just wash it away, which was only another way of saying she was burying everything deep down, she could walk back out there with confidence. And if she was confident, she would be okay. _Everything_ would be okay.

She scrubbed every inch of her body forcefully, as though there were invisible patches of dirt stuck in every pore. Her motions were almost manic, from her neck, down her breasts, her stomach, every place he touched had to be erased of his presence.

As satisfied as she would ever be with her state of cleanliness, she stepped out of the shower and wrapped the towel around her waist, tightening it at her collarbone. Proceeding to get dressed in the bedroom, she pulled on some clothes, sweatpants and a t-shirt when a set of arms wrapped around her waist.

"Hey, is everything all right? You seemed... distracted."

Shelby leaned her cheek into the side of her head, his chin cradled in her neck. "Everything's good – great even," she answered quietly, putting all her acting training to good use as she put a hand to his head and moved in to kiss him. Maybe she was milking it a little, anything to assure him that everything was fine. "Okay, the smell is making me drool, can we eat now?"

Will let out a small laugh and released his arms from her torso, instead using a hand to grab onto hers and lead her back towards the kitchen. She followed after him silently, no grip upon his hand. Within the doorway, he stopped to look at her. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Will, I said I'm fine, okay?" she snapped, suddenly impatient.

"I'm sorry for worrying," he retorted back quickly.

She only glared back at him.

Slowly, his expression softened. "Okay, sorry, if you say everything's okay, then I believe you. Just... you know you can talk to me about anything, right? _Anything,_" he urged, subtly begging her to open up to him.

"I know," she answered simply, shrugging her hand away from his and moving through the doorway past him towards the kitchen.

She didn't know anything of the sort.

**Author's Note: **Review please! I don't know if I'm going to continue, I have some ideas, but I'm kind of tedious about the plot of it all. Tell me what you think of this as an intro.


	2. Up For Air

**Author's Note:** Woop woop! I'm continuing due to my friend, I was reading the reviews and my friend peered over my shoulder and ended up giving me great ideas for the next chapter. So, credit to him. Also, the reviews helped! Thanks **Your-hollywood-tragedyx3, MarlisaKristine, Cissy Black Malfoy, Jisbon-fan, Ashley218 and Greys has become my life** for the reviews! I notice a lot of you are Shell shippers, read the chapter, there's some fluff between them. There's some mature content at the beginning, but nothing that I think warrants changing the rating. If I'm wrong, tell me. Okay, done rambling, to the story!

**Up For Air**

He watches her play, she's masterful at the instrument, precision in timing, execution, everything. It's easy to see she puts her everything into her passion. He sets his elbows on the piano, propping his chin up by his knuckles as he gazes at her. It's a wistful gaze, he wants to know what she's thinking, but who could really guess this woman's thoughts?

Her eyes are closed as her fingers run across the keys, not a single note out of beat until she strikes the wrong chord and it all goes awry. Her eyes fling open and she smashes her hands upon the black and white keys and curses loudly along with a grunt of frustration.

"You lost concentration," he points out. "You should have kept going, it was almost perfect."

"I don't do _almost _perfect," she says and no truer words have been spoken. As he knows well, nothing less than the utmost best is accepted by her. It's one thing that makes her so attractive to him: her effervescence. She has the drive to push herself and everyone she knows, and it's a flaw to some, but to him, it's a strength so rare he thought it lost to the general population. "What are you doing here?" she asks, it's not a rude question; she's not telling him to get lost with her tone. It's curiosity.

"I think you can guess," he answers snidely, walking around the oversized instrument and standing behind her, hands on her shoulders as his thumbs slowly start massaging them. "You're tense," he tells her, straightening out the kinks of stress in her back muscles.

"Not here," she says, abruptly standing up and turning around, only to find herself directly in front of him, their faces a mere inch apart.

"Why not?" he asks, leaning his forehead against hers until he can feel her breath hitting his face. The hands that were previously massaging her shoulders now moved down her back, one arm snaking its way to her stomach, trailing down toward her jeans.

"Because," she says finitely and pushes his hand away from her, redoing the button he had just undone. It wasn't really an answer, but she doesn't have a real one for him. Instead, she pushes him away and heads towards the door, but he grabs her by the arm and reels her back in. She gives him a look, a look he's familiar with, a look that tells him she means business. But he doesn't care. He's not her student anymore and he hasn't been for five months now. Instead, pushes her up against the piano, wraps a hand around the back of her neck and kisses her. She resists at first, pounding a fist against his unwavering chest until he rubs her cheek softly with his free hand.

The kiss is intense. It always is with him. It doesn't stop until they need to come back up for air. It's a rush as they take heavy breaths, staring at each other until he hoists her up by the waist and props her up onto the piano, rushing to get her top off. She doesn't make any movements to help him, so he gives up, opting to run his hands under her shirt instead. Their lips meet again, it's a good feeling as he undoes her pants, he's so ready for this. She can hear his zipper being pulled down and he leans in closer, soft kisses and nibbles against the side of her neck.

"We shouldn't be doing this," she breathes. She says this every time, and sometimes, she stops, but sometimes it's easier to ruin everything she has going for her.

"I don't see why not," he mutters back in between each kiss.

"You know why not," is her retort, running a hand through his dark hair, so perfectly groomed.

"No one knows, stop worrying," he tells her, though he knows she won't take the advice to heart. She's a worrier, it's one of her defining characteristics. She never stops over-thinking.

"It's not just that."

"What else could it be? It's not like I can get you pregnant," he says with a breathy chuckle, returning back to his task of running patterns over her skin with his mouth. But she doesn't take that comment sitting down. Instead, her half closed eyes pop open and she pushes him away.

"Jackass!" she yells, and without thinking she kicks him in the chest, stiletto heel and all.

"What the hell?" he exclaims, holding a hand to ribs, clutching his shirt, pretending to be in more pain than he actually is.

"You think you're so fucking smart," she says, not looking at him now, gathering her things up and throwing them carelessly into her bag.

"Oh come on, I didn't mean it like that."

"Yes, you did," she says grudgingly, walking over to her coat she'd placed on one of the choir room chairs. "I knew you were a jerk, but God..." she trails off, not like she hasn't said worse to other people before, but the hypocrisy eludes her.

"No, I didn't mean it. It came out wrong, okay?" he says, a slightly whiny texture to his voice as he follows her movements, grabbing onto her hand. She quickly slaps it away, but he's persistent, following her as she heads toward the door. "Shelby..." he pleads now. "You can't just go."

"Watch me," she answers, turning around at the door to look at him. He has hope now; at least she's looking at him. Instead, she takes a step back and closes the door in his face.

* * *

"You're late," he said. It wasn't an accusation, just a statement of fact.

"I know, sorry. Practice ran late, I'm trying to train a new lead, but I can't find the talent," she explained to him, completely cool-headed with her lie. She climbed into the car, she didn't like not being the one driving, the one in charge, but he was old-fashioned with gender roles. She was the worst of backseat drivers.

"You've been looking for a lead for two months," Will pointed out as he set the car into ignition.

"I know, it's hard to replace Jesse," she told him, instantly regretting bringing his name up. She just didn't want him to hear the sudden change in her tone. "He was my lead for four years, you know."

"Oh, yeah, he called the other day, looking for you."

She blinked, "Uhm, he did?"

"Yeah, have you two talked lately?"

"Not really, no."

"I didn't know he was back from L.A."

"Oh, he is?" she realized she probably shouldn't have seemed so oblivious, she was good at acting, but lying wasn't the same thing.

"He misses you or something," he said with a chuckle.

"He told you that?"

"Did you two have a fight?"

"Why are we talking about him?"

"I'll take that as a yes."

"Will, I don't want to talk about him. Why don't you tell me where we're going? I don't like surprises."

"Yes, you do. You just don't like not knowing. When you get the surprise, you love it."

"Are you psycho-analyzing me?"

"I am."

She crossed her arms over her chest and pouted.

"Aw, babe, don't be like that."

"I'm not being like anything."

"Pout all you want, I'm not telling you."

"Just tell me."

"Nope."

"Will..."

"Shelby..."

They pulled up into the parking lot.. "We're at the mall? The _mall_ is the big surprise?"

"Yes, Shelby, the mall. We're going shopping," he said with a smile, clearly joking though she didn't catch it.

"I don't want to go shopping. I want to go home," she said, feeling immature. He didn't listen or pay any attention to her antics, instead got out of the car, and opening the door for her. Begrudgingly, she took his hand and climbed out of the car and followed him into the mall.

"Where are we going now?" she asked, her voice low as he led them into a darkly lit restaurant.

"Shelby, stop talking. I know it's difficult for you, but try, for me," he said, clutching her hand reassuringly. She gave him a look, but clamped her lips together, the hint of a smirk on her face. He sat them down at a table, clearly reserved for them. The appetizers came without ordering, and she looked at him skeptically. That was one thing about him, he was perceptive, he knew what she liked, what she didn't like. And of course, she wasn't exactly a cook, so he had learned within months what she preferred and didn't.

"Can I talk now?" she asked cheekily.

"Yes, yes you may," he replied, reaching out to hold her hand. She wasn't one for public displays of affection but she figured she owed him that much. His thumb stroked over the top of her hand as he watched her start to talk about her day, laughing at the right intervals, looking offended when she complained.

"There was this kid in my first period class, he-"

"Shelby," he said, interrupting her as the dessert was placed before them.

"I'm telling a story," she said pointedly.

"I'm aware," he told her as he stood up.

She looked confused, "Where are you going?"

He didn't answer, instead moved beside her and reached into his pocket and started to shift down onto his knee.

"Will..." she said warningly, growing panic etched onto her face. But he figured it to be shock, not fear and smiled instead.

"Shelby Corcoran, we've been together for a while now and I realize the little things that I love about you. The way you run your hands through your hair, how if the toothbrush isn't in the right spot on the rack, you freak out, the way you cry when you watch soap operas but pretend that you don't, the way you sign your name with a star on _legal_ documents. Everything. And I want to discover all those other little things about you for a really long time. So, will you, Shelby, mar-"

"Don't. Don't say it," she said standing up, pushing her chair back and stepping around the other side. "I just can't – I really lo- maybe... I-I'm sorry, Will." She gave him an apologetic shrug, grabbed her bag, her coat and walked the other way; leaving him there, still on one knee.

**Author's Note: **Do you hate me Shell shippers? DO YOU? I don't blame you. I tried to put in some fluff for you though, so there's that... haha, we'll see what happens next. I have the next chapters planned, so they shouldn't take too long if I have the proper encouragement. Wink wink, hint hint, nudge nudge.


	3. Everything Going To Be Fine

**Author's Note:** Whoa! Some of the reviews got a little wordy/critical/some adjective there! Which is actually something, as a writer, that I enjoy, even if they weren't all positive comments. It lets me know you guys are actually paying attention to my work. I do read them and think about them while I write, I assure you. The constructive criticism is completely welcome, guys. I think you've all avoided being mean, even if you didn't like something, which is lovely and doesn't always happen. So thanks!

I did say _some_ fluff and that I _tried_. xD This isn't meant to be a fluffy piece, if I were to add a third genre, it'd probably be angst. The characters aren't meant to be particularly likeable, in fact, their biggest flaws are purposefully at the forefront of this story. I like figuring out the imperfections of humanity and ultimately displaying, in the end, why we're still worth the time. I also tend to focus on character development, so maybe you'll understand where I'm coming from if you keep reading. I hope that answers all, or at least, some of the things you guys asked/brought up in your reviews!

I know this kind of jumps around, but I think you can follow along pretty easily. Then again, I wrote it, so I might be wrong. I made a pattern (in the earlier chapters too) where present tense is Jesse and past tense is Will. There's no foreshadowing in that, I promise. I just felt the intensity of present tense describes the St. Corcoran relationship well and the comfort of past tense fits Shell... if you get what I mean. If you don't, then maybe I'm just crazy, who knows. Extra long ramble too, hope nothing was superfluous...

**Everything's Going To Be Fine  
**

He looks at her across the table, watching her wring her hand around the coffee mug. She's not looking at him, instead staring at the little swirls of foam inside her cup. She hasn't said a word for fifteen minutes, strange because she usually had a tendency to not shut up. Worse than that, she had a tendency to not shut up about things that didn't matter and refuse to talk about the things that did.

"Why are you here?" he asks suddenly, breaking the silence.

"I don't know," she looks up for a moment and he thinks she's going to say something, but she doesn't and turns back to staring mindlessly into her cup.

"I'm sorry about earlier," he says, still trying to rack up some sort of conversation. He's not able to just sit in silence, it makes him uncomfortable.

"I don't care," she says back. "I've known you were an asshole for a long time. No surprise there. I'm not here for your comfort. I'm still angry at you."

"Okay, you're pissed at me. But you're here for a reason," he tells her, he's sure he's right. He's sure she wants to be there. Of course, he _always_ thinks he's right. "I think that reason is me."

"You are reckless, conceited, hypocritical, selfish, thoughtless and uptight. Believe me when I say, it's not you," she replies, an arched eyebrow though she still won't look up at him. Her focus remains on the foam that has dissipated into tiny, clear bubbles even though her face is as animated as ever when she speaks.

He scoffs and glances upwards. "And you're not all those things?"

Her eyes flicker upwards now, eyes trained on his smug face. "You won't hear me deny it" she says, almost defeatedly.

"You didn't answer my question. Why are you here?"

"I didn't have anywhere else to go."

* * *

Will set his coffee mug on the table, paced around the room, then sat back down on the couch and picked it up again. He ran a hand through his hair, oddly messy for the man. He stood back up and went to grab the phone, dialling the first few numbers, then stopping, his eyes never leaving the tiny LCD screen, then pushing the off button and setting it back in its place.

"Will, can you stop doing that?"

He looked at the woman on his recliner, hands kept to her sides, maximally avoiding as much space on the sofa as possible. He sat back down, his head falling backwards as he stared up towards the ceiling. "I don't get it," he says with a loud exhale. "I mean, I do, but I don't. I thought she'd say yes, I mean, I know she's been a little... distant, but I thought, maybe she felt like we weren't going anywhere with the relationship. So I decided to take the logical next step. I thought she'd say yes."

"Well, of course you thought she would, or you wouldn't have asked," Emma replied, she was all too accustomed to this situation. Perhaps not the rejected proposal kind, but more like sitting on opposite sides, handing out advice like Thursday's cafeteria lunch special. "Maybe she just needs time."

"She is kind of indecisive," he said knowingly, smiling at the thought that he knew her so well. "Although, I did kind of spring it on her. Maybe she _doesn't_ like surprises," he mused ironically.

* * *

He sits beside her, about to put his arm around her shoulders but she shies away and he retreats. He knows she likes her personal space, so doesn't urge her on. "Are you going to sit on my couch all night and not speak to me?"

"That's the plan," she replies, unwavering. She holds her coffee mug in her hand still, it's not finished, in fact, she's barely drunk any. It's just there to keep her hands busy as she trails her fingers along the design of the thing.

"Don't you find it a little sad that I'm the only friend you can come to in a time of need?"

Her head slowly shifts to look at him, unamused. "We're not friends," she states. "We're not friends, we're not colleagues, we're not student/mentor and we are certainly not lovers." She has no idea what they are. Like any type of relationship she's ever had in her life, it's undefinable.

"I beg to differ."

"Beg all you want," she says with a shrug. "I do love you, in a way-" she pauses, making a face and redirecting what she was about to say, "maybe that's not the right word. I trust you, and maybe that's misguided, but I do. And I think you know it, and I think you take advantage of it." She explains to him stuff that took her a lot of time to figure out. The perfect words to describe what she's trying to say don't exist, at least not in her vocabulary, but she tries nonetheless.

"If you know it, then why do you let me?"

She looks directly at him again, but her mouth doesn't move, nor does her expression change. For a few long moments, she doesn't do anything. He's about to get up and leave when she finally reacts. "Do you have any idea what it's like to be completely alone for fifteen years?" she asks, it's clearly a rhetorical question. He's barely lived fifteen years in comparison. She breathes a melancholic smile. "It's not that bad," she says, surprising him. He gives her a confused look and she continues. "Not while you're going through it. It's just the way you live and that's fine, but when _one_ person breaks down your barrier," she just stops talking and looks at him, and he gets what she's saying.

He broke down that barrier; unintentionally, but he did.

"I'd have been perfectly fine without you in my life, Jesse St. James."

"Probably better for it too."

* * *

He called her again, listening to the ring; once, twice, busy toned. It was aggravating. Why couldn't she just pick up and explain what it was that he needed to do to fix whatever it was he did wrong? And he would blame himself, he was Will Schuester. That was what he did, brought everything upon himself until it was too much to handle. The thought that it was her fault hadn't even crossed his mind. Perhaps he was blinded by love, or simply blinded, but he was sure he had acted too fast.

It was obvious his girlfriend had commitment issues, but he'd learned she could also be quite the romantic. Candles, little gifts, serenading, all those small romantic gestures, she loved and openly expressed that she enjoyed them. She could be reserved from the world, he was aware of that, but she could also be remarkably obvious at times. The fact that she was so damned confusing was what made it exciting to be with her. The mysteries were what drew him in.

"I felt like she was pulling away, you know?" he told Emma rhetorically. He really liked this about her, she would just listen and try her best to not judge. He knew full well Shelby didn't like the woman, even if for the sole fact of their history, but she was a friend, one of the few adult ones he had and Shelby had found it in herself to understand that. "She was pulling away and I had to do something to pull her back in, and instead, I think I pushed her further away."

"She'll talk to you, Will," she said encouragingly. If she had been comfortable with human contact, she'd have put her hand on his to help her point. "Just give her time, ever think maybe it's not about you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Maybe she has her own demons to deal with," she told him wisely. He knew she was right. Will looked down, silence falling over them as he sifted through the process of worrying.

"None of this would have happened if you hadn't gotten married," he said suddenly, an obvious joke. "Twice," he added, then paused again before inputting another addendum. "Almost, at least."

"Oh, Will..."

He didn't reply, in fact, he regretted saying it. He seemed insensitive to his own cause from that comment. Will loved Shelby, and he wouldn't give that up for the world, but she had a way of complicating her life and the lives of everyone around her. Ignorance could have been bliss he figured, but then again, better to have loved and lost. By God, he prayed there was no loss.

* * *

She feels her phone vibrate, again, barely even looking at it, she hits the off button. She'd let it ring and go to voicemail, but she's trying to drop him a hint that he's clearly not getting. She doesn't want to talk to him. He's an easy man to talk to, he listens, _actually_ listens. And that's a rare thing, she's lucky, she knows, but it's also the thing that scares her. She's a complicated woman; everlasting indecisiveness lining everything she does. What's even more terrifying is the love she feels towards him. They're complete opposites of each other, and that's a hard relationship to maintain, but it's what makes it work.

She looks at the young man on the other side of the sofa, his eyes are drooping and she assumes he's fallen asleep. She watches him for a moment, sorting out her thoughts when he flops his head to the side, facing her. "My chest hurts, you know," he complains, his voice low and raspy from his fatigue.

"Oh, poor baby," she says, taunting, she's certainly not sorry. He deserved it. "Would you like an ice pack?" she continues, her tone still condescending.

"Yes," he answers, playing along with her and forcing a frown.

"Well then go get one," she says without remorse, and he pretends to look hurt. There's a comfort in this, just messing around with each other and not _messing_ around with each other. That's also how it started; everything between them.

"I'm wounded and you're being mean to me? Fine, I see how it is," he says and makes a point to cross his arms across his chest and turn his head away. She watches him apprehensively, almost laughing at his over-exaggerated pout. She nudges his leg with her foot, but he refuses to respond so she breathes out, pulls the pillow out from under her arm and throws it at him. "What the hell?" he bellows, grabbing the same pillow from the floor where it had fallen and throwing it back. He expects her to return it again and props his hands up to protect himself, but it doesn't come. Instead, he sets his arms back down and she's silently crying into her hands.

He isn't sure how to react at first. She's cried in front of him before, but those were rare moments and he finds it strange that she's so vulnerable. With an unsure gaze, he moves closer to her and wraps an arm around her shoulders. She doesn't respond to his touch though, and more than ever, he has no clue how to make things better. He opts for the fact that he can't. So he puts a hand to the other side of her face and pulls her into his chest, just letting her cry in the comfort of his arms.

* * *

He'd been distracted the whole time, just sitting at the piano bench, his eyes watching the kids perform, but he barely even registered that they were dancing. Before him, Rachel appeared, waving her hand in front of his face. He shook his head lightly and his eyes actually focused on her face.

"Mr. Schuester," she said. "Were you even listening to anything I said? I made some eloquently valid points and I would like your input." He hadn't noticed, but she'd been talking to him for quite some time. It wasn't uncommon to not pay attention to every little word she said, but usually he would catch the basic gist. This time, her face in front of him seemed to come from no where.

"I'm sorry, Shelby, I got distracted. What did you say?"

"... I'm Rachel, Mr. Schuester," she told him, her eyebrows suddenly cross. She seemed offended by the mistake. The other kids hadn't even seemed to notice, joyously continuing along with practising their dance routines.

"Oh God, I'm sorry, Rachel," he replied apologetically, hastily trying to fix his mistake. "I'm just really out of it today." He mentally smacked himself for the error. He was more than well aware of the unresolved issues that fell between Rachel and her mother, but they just looked _so_ much alike. Their personalities even had similarities and he'd caught them all. He figured if there were anyone he would mistake for the woman he loved, it was at least the one person in the world who shared half her genetic code.

"Is something wrong?" she enquired, but he had the sneaking suspicion that the question was brought up less with concern and more with curiosity.

Will looked up at her for a moment, opened his mouth, but changed his mind at the last minute. She was the last person he should say anything to. "No, everything's great," he answered instead. "Everything's going to be fine..."

**Author's note: **Dadadum! So, I had this chapter done for a while and it was longer, but I couldn't find a way to end it so I cut off like three paragraphs. Hopefully the ending is satisfactory enough for you all to keep reading! :D Please review, ask, criticize, suggest, demand, request, anything really, I'll give you cookies and love you forever and ever!


	4. Expect The Unexpected

**Author's Note:** This is a shorter chapter, and posted slower too. I'm a lazy writer, just so everyone who reads this knows xD If I'm bored, I _will_ play roller coaster tycoon instead of write. I'll try to get the next one up faster. Thanks for the fantastic reviews though, guys! I love my readers!

**Expect The Unexpected**

She sits at her desk, eyes running across the pages of her day planner. She filled it up this morning; scheduling a meeting with the company that designs Vocal Adrenaline's costumes, signing up to chaperone school events all week, increasing rehearsal times by an hour, planning to visit the music store and pick up sheet music, slot times filled in to go to specific stores to buy specific things, anything to keep her busy.

She's already a workaholic, the work doesn't stress her out, it's oddly therapeutic. That was another thing Will didn't fully understand about her, why she couldn't just enjoy free time. He'd accepted it, but she knows he isn't completely satisfied with it.

As she heads towards her last period class, her cell phone goes off. She's almost reluctant to even check it, it might be her almost-fiance and she's still not ready to deal. A glance at the caller ID shows an unknown number and she's that much more reluctant. He might have just decided to start calling from various places. Still, she taps the talk button and waits, not initiating the greeting.

"Hello?" comes a voice. She almost lets out a sigh of relief. It's female. "Hello?"

"Shelby Corcoran speaking."

"Ms. Corcoran, I'm a nurse at Akron General," at this, she stops walking. "There's been an accident."

* * *

She runs up to the front desk, completely unsure of where to go. She hates hospitals, they're just the setting of all her worst memories, and there's a lot of them. She's never been to this specific one though and there's a modicum of comfort in that, but not much; all hospitals smell the same. She asks the receptionist where to go and she's directed to the ICU, sixth floor, east wing.

As she steps off the glistening silver elevator, she's still not quite positive which hall to head down, so she takes the first pick. Moments ago, she was given a room number, but hell if her mind isn't racing so wildly she's already forgotten it. As she walks, her heels creating a resounding tap sound, and she takes to peering into the windows; an ultimately terrible idea. This is where the worst of the sick are kept, some of them just waiting to die, and that's not a thought she wants at the forefront of her mind.

It takes seven minutes of endless wandering until the frustration kicks in and she asks a nurse for directions. The young woman smiles politely and leads the way, there's a strained silence as their feet hit the floor synchronously. She quietly thanks for the help and takes a breath, pausing outside the door. She has no idea what to expect. She doesn't even know what happened.

Mentally prepared, she opens the door and walks inside.

He doesn't look hurt. Except for the IV hooked up to his arm, the heart rate monitor beeping rapidly and the fact that he's paler than a sheet, he just looks like he's sleeping. He doesn't move, so she assumes he's just asleep. Any alternatives are unthinkable.

She pulled a chair up to his side and sits down, her purse tucked into her lap. She's unsteady as she leans closer, studying his face. To her, he looks cold and she scours the room, trying to find another blanket. It's strange, she's never really felt like she had to take care of him before. This is a brand new feeling.

She stands up to walk over to an awkwardly placed table, pulling perfectly wrapped blankets off and unfolding them to tuck around him. As she pulls it up to his chest, he begins to stir. His eyes are drowsy but he offers a weak smile.

"Hi," she says, reciprocating the grin.

"Hi." His voice isn't hoarse, like she was expecting, just quiet. He seemed the most fragile she'd ever known him to be.

"What happened?" she asks, eyebrows furrowed worriedly. He seemed fine last night, perhaps a little tired but she assumed that to be nothing. A quick scan of him doesn't show any external injuries, she has no idea what the possibilities might be.

"I don't know," he says, same soft tone. "I was just heading out to the grocery store for the tea that you finished last night, and I don't know..." He trails off and sucks in a cheek as he wracks his brain for the answer to her question. "I'm tired."

"Then sleep," she tells him and he doesn't respond, lolling his head off to the side into the beginning of sleep. She sits back down, resting her head forward on the bed before her and letting out a stressful sigh.

After a few minutes of simply sitting there, breathing alongside him, the door opens and a man, mid-thirties, enters in a white lab jacket and a chart in his hands. "Hello, I'm Dr. Campbell. Are you his mother?" he asks with a gesture to the sleeping young man on the bed.

She ponders lying for a moment, but then lets out a small laugh. She doesn't look that old, right? "No, I'm... a friend," she responds. "But, uhm, I'm his emergency contact. What happened to him?"

"Well, when he was brought in, he was coughing up blood and there's been internal hemorrhaging in his lungs. I believe it was caused by trauma to the chest."

Shelby looks at him, a moment of pensiveness, then a wide-eyed gasp as she comes to realization.

**Author's Note: **See? Really lazy chapter. I'd have written more, but it would have been filler text and for the sake of having the story move along... I didn't want to add it. So uhm, bet you didn't see that coming though, eh? There's no Will in this chapter, but he'll be in the next, promise! Please review and help my muse to keep writing!


	5. Moment Of Vulnerability

**Author's Note:** Dum da da da da dum! Thanks for the reviews; everyone who leaves one is sexy. Yes, this is as angsty as ever ( I'll probably put out a fluffy, humorous one shot just to balance out the gloom) and Will-filled, promise. Felt like the Shell shippers deserved some moments between them. But yeah, thanks for reading! There's only about three more chapters left for this fic and then I'll try to finish my other St. Corcoran one.

**Moment of Vulnerability**

"Is he going to be okay?" she asks, worry, fear and guilt all drenched in her tone. She's not looking at the doctor now, instead, she's grabbed his hand holding it up to her chin as she holds back a sniffle.

There's a moment's pause before the man speaks and panic invades her thoughts. "We did drain the blood from his lungs, stopped the hemorrhage, but we'll have to do a full body scan to spot any possible longer term effects."

"Is he going to be okay?" she asks again, more adamant this time. She doesn't give a rat's ass about the doctor medical crap, she just needs an answer to her question. A simple answer.

There's another bout of silence before the physician says anything again, and her frustration grows. "It's difficult to say right now, but the prognosis seems fine. He'll probably come out of this with a small incision scar on his lung and nothing more." She receives a smile that she doesn't return, but nods with slight relief.

"Thank you."

"It's my job, ma'am," he tells her politely as he heads out the door, writing something into his chart as he does.

She sits there, idly, a heaviness clouding her eyesight. None of this makes sense. She couldn't have done this, would _never_ do this. This was his fault. Not hers. Yet, no matter how much she tells herself, she can't believe it to be true. She rubs her eye with the back of her hand, a spot of wetness shifted away.

She loves this boy. No matter what he does, no matter what she does, no matter what they do together, there's an amalgamated amount of love between them. A lot of the time, she hates that fact, but neither of them have very much in the world, and even if no one understands it, they're lucky to have each other. She wonders, what if he can't dance again? What if his breathing can't regulate and he won't be able to sing again? The idea of such a thing... he would rather die and she knows it, because she would rather die as well. To go through life unable to attest to one's passion? That's no life at all. If she's stripped him of this, well, there's no forgiveness there.

She rubs his hand softly. There's nothing wrong with his hand, but there's just an atmosphere in the room that requires utmost care. And again, she feels the sting of tears flood her eyelids, unable to hold them back, she leans her head down, silently crying into the sheets. The second night in a row she cries in his presence.

"I'm so sorry," she gasps, muffled by the cashmere covers.

* * *

"Hi, excuse me," he said timidly, tapping on the door. "I'm looking for Shelby Corcoran."

The substitute teacher looked at him apprehensively.

"Oh, I'm her boyfriend," he added, not quite sure what credentials he would need to get information on her whereabouts. He found it odd that she was missing out on a class. How rare was it for that woman to ever skip out on a day of work? He didn't think her capable of it. "Will Schuester," he said, extending a hand to shake.

The teacher, in her sixties it seemed, shook his hand in response. "Miss Corcoran left about an hour and a half ago," she responded politely. "I was on call to take over for her."

"I see," he said, unsure. "Do you know where she might have gone?"

"To the hospital," was her response and he did make a sound. Instead, he backed away a few steps, turning on his heel and half-sprinting towards the doorway.

It took fifteen minutes for him to run six red lights, thankfully, seven of them were variously green and yellow. Half the time, was spent pushing the first speed dial on his phone, the ringing was pounding through his ears now. She still never answered her phone, and the frustration made him hurl his back into the cushion of his seat, mildly swerving the car towards the sidewalk.

Finally at the hospital, he ran through the emergency room, expecting to find his would-be fiancee lying on a bed, wounded, coughing up blood, bruises splattered across her face. The image in his head had to be worse than any reality, but the imagination was impossible to contain. He brushed passed curtains, until he deduced she was not here and began to regret his rash action of leaving so quickly.

He made his way back towards the main reception stand, as he passed through the waiting room, he caught the sight of her dark brown hair. "Shelby," he called out, rushing over to her. From her spot upon the couch, she looked up, a look of worry and panic on her face. At that, he slowed down, approaching her with caution.

"Why are you here?" she asked, eyes wide as he sat in a chair across from her. He paused for a moment, catching the breath her hadn't realized he'd lost. She put the drink of coffee to her lips, taking long swallows of the hot liquid.

"I went to Carmel and they-"

"You went looking for me?" she asked incredulously. He couldn't seem to take her hint of 'leave me the hell alone'.

"Of course I did," he responded. He looked down at his hands, not quite able to look directly into her accusing eyes. "I've been worried about you. You won't even pick up the phone to tell me that you're okay." He reached out to hold her hand pleadingly, but she pulled away. She wasn't ready for that. He sighed at the rejection and sat up straighter, "Why are _you_ here?"

She didn't answer right away, instead turning her gaze away as she battled with making a decision to spill everything. "Jesse's hurt," she replied instead. No matter what, she wasn't the pour everything out kind, and the fear paralysed her.

"Oh my God," he said slowly, and she couldn't help but feel a little patronized. He didn't even know the young man very well, how he could feel bad for this didn't make sense to her.

"You don't even know him," she said, and he wasn't quite sure where she was going with this. "So you don't need to be here, you can go home now." She was pushing him away, and though she was stubborn and he knew it would be a fight, he wasn't just going to give in.

"Don't be silly," he said, trying to give her a reassuring smile as he shifted closer to her. "I'm going to stay here for you, even if you don't think you need support." He pulled an arm around her, and this time she didn't recoil, but she barely moved at all. That was progress. "Is he going to be okay?" He realized he would now have to initiate any kind of conversation between them, she was too stubborn, tired, distraught to do anything of the sort.

"The doctor said probably," she replied, short and concise. He didn't expect anything different.

"Did you call his parents?"

"I left a message, but God knows where they are," she answered, and he could detect a hint of begrudge in her tone.

"Are they deadbeats?" he asked concernedly.

"Rich ones," she answered with a scoff. "The best kind."

And from what little he knew of her family, he knew she was able to sympathize with that predicament. Of the year they'd been together, she rarely talked of her family, never called nor received a letter. But he never did ask, and he had high doubts she would ever tell in the near future. When something pained her, and he knew this particularly well, she just buried it away and it would never have to be told.

"I think I did it," she said, an abrupt moment of vulnerability on her face.

"Did what?"

"I hurt him," she said, taking a swallow after gasping. "It's my fault." She put a hand to her face and forced herself to hold back tears, leaving a constricting feeling in both her eyes and chest. "I got mad at him, and I kicked him. I mean, who does that? He just... _Oh God_..." she sucked in heavy breaths, and he watched her worriedly. She was so difficult to console, and he barely understood a word she was saying.

"Shelby, it's okay. It's going to be okay," he told her, pulling her up against him, head cradled in his neck. And she still refused to cry here, in a waiting room with so many people. So he held her silently, hoping she'd understand the gesture as him always being there for her. As her breathing regulated, he looked down at her and asked, "Do you want to go see him?" She nodded, and released herself from his grip, composing herself as best she could and standing up, then making her way towards the elevator, Will following close behind.

**Author's Note: **What's this? All three of them in the same room together? Oh no... ( 'Oh no' to be read as sung by the restaurant man in the RENT OBC recording of La Vie Boheme). Psst, I do like a minimum of at least four reviews per chapter before posting the next one. -whistles-


	6. Misfortunes That Plague

**Author's Note:** So many other fic ideas are popping into my head and I wish I had the time and initiative to write all of them. Sadly, I do not. But I must finish this before I start making other multi-chapter fics or I'll feel bad and lazy! Soooo, enjoy. And as always, lovely reviews. You guys make it worth bothering to write!

So, this totally didn't go in the direction I started out in. Yep, there's some Shell smut (note the rating change), couldn't help it. There was only so much of crying Shelby I could take. Also, oh my Lord, I realized I had no idea how to write the tenses I gave to both guys when they're in the same scene. It confusified me, so, I hope it does not do the same to you.

**SMUT THIS CHAPTER, if you don't want to read, you can scroll down beneath the linebreak.**

**Misfortunes That Plague**

She enters the room, but stops just inside the doorway, turning around to face him. "You're going to come in?" she asks, worry in her tone but she's trying her damnedest not to give that away. She's tedious about this at best, and she can only hope the younger man won't wake up anytime soon.

"... yes?" he says uncertainly, if she forces the issue, he will of course stay out in the hall. It's a problem in their relationship, he's so eager to please her without question. And for someone with as much solidarity as the woman he loves, it's not something she can get used to quite so easily. "I want to be here for you."

She offers him a weak smile, but it's the best thing he's gotten in days, so he'll take it. "Thank you," she replies. Of one thing she's sure of, she does not deserve this man. And he deserves more than she can give.

He shakes his head softly, "You know you don't need to thank me." She doesn't know that, but she lets the issue slide and turns to head in the room back to her perch on the chair by Jesse's bedside. She doesn't touch him, just watches, making sure he's still breathing and that she has not fully murdered him yet.

He watches her watch him. His gaze studies her face, wondering what she's thinking, wondering about the amount of fear etched in every line of skin. It hurts him to see her so scared, if she wouldn't push him away, he would hold on to her forever and just tell her that everything is going to be okay. But that's the not the kind of woman she is. That independence is a part of her; a skill and fault at the same time.

"Shelby, you didn't do this," he says suddenly, breaking the silence. "Whatever happened, you could never hurt somebody, I know you." Doesn't he understand that every word he says just sounds patronizing to her? He thinks he knows her, but he has no fucking clue.

"I kicked him," she tells him, pushing the words from her throat. "I meant to do it too. There's no excuse for that." She stares at her own hands, studying the nail polish chipping away at the edges. She's living with enough guilt already, what's a little more? She has the urge to turn and face the man she loves, like always, she wants to tell him. And like always, she doesn't have the nerve. She can't explain what she's done, and certainly cannot explain why she's done it, she can only hope that one day he'll forgive her; if she ever racks up the courage. She's more inclined to run away and never look back. She's good at that, running away and forgetting the misfortunes that plague.

"Stop it," he says. "Don't do that to yourself." He waits for her to respond, but she doesn't, so he takes the initiative and puts a hand to her cheek, softly turning her to face him. "Listen to me, this isn't your fault." He tries to convince her, but she's so hard-headed.

"You don't know that," she replies, her green eyes meeting his. She shakes her head incredulously and he swallows, knowing there are no words. Instead, he moves closer, capturing her lips with his. She pushes him away for a second, but he refuses to let go and she lets herself fall into the kiss. There's barely enough space to breathe, but it's a long kiss and she pulls away again. For a moment, she looks at him, and then stands up from her chair when he follows suit. There's hesitation, then pure heat as she flies into his arms, pushing up against him.

They're against the wall now, but with the presence of the wounded boy in the room, a taboo aura fills the room. So he lifts her up, carrying out of the room, placing her back on her feet once in the hall. Holding her by the hand, he pulls her towards an empty room, quickly shutting the door behind them, not bothering to pause and turn the lights on.

He guides her to the bed, slowly bringing her back down to the mattress and making his own way on top of her. He runs his mouth against her neck, soft kisses along her jawline as she looks up at the ceiling. They can only see silhouettes of the other, and she blindly undoes his pants as he hikes her skirt. He's missed her so bad; her touch, her delicate smell, the soft feel of her skin. It's like their first time again, rushed and careless because they need this so bad. This is her best way of connecting with another human being and this is his way of showing love.

Rashly, unable to wait as she attempts the zipper and button, he pulls his pants off completely, boxers short after. Her hands roam under his shirt, when he reaches under her black skirt and hooks two fingers onto her underwear. Already, there's a stain of moisture; lust is evident of her entire body. She feels the fabric being pulled down her thighs and wraps a hand around the back of his neck, drawing his lips back to her hers.

He can sense hesitation as he guides her legs apart, but she doesn't stop so he won't either. Perhaps it's the rush of endorphins, but there's no worry anymore, he just wants to make her happy, and he can do that. "I love you," he breathes, his mouth at her ear as he slowly fills into her and she lets out a gasp. The rhythm of their bodies fills the room, slowly at first, almost painfully slow. She keeps an arm around him as he delves deeper each time.

Her sounds are less moans as they are breaths, light, painless breaths. She isn't guilty, she isn't scared or worried, she's in a state of bliss. There is no room around them, no bed beneath them, only their bodies rocking in harmony. He runs a hand beneath her shirt, brushing fingers the warm feel of her breast, both their flesh heated by the passion.

The speed of movement is suddenly exponential as her back arches, positioning herself for release and his breathing turns to hyperventilation. It's thrusting now, each one stronger and faster than the one before. She can feel the fire building up, an feel of utter longing and need as her climax builds. She falters beneath him, and finally reaches her breaking point, clutching around his manhood, crying out softly and her quivers send him over the edge.

"I love you," she tells him, an eventual reciprocation of his same statement. "I love you so much." Their minds and forms are consumed by the pleasure. He keeps his head buried into the cradle of her neck with his shallow breath hitting her pale throat.

They come down from their highs, barely shifting positions as he pulls out slower than he pushed in. He keeps an arm wrapped around her, refusing to let go as reality comes back into focus. He fears if he lets go, then she will leave and this will have been meaningless. Her confession of love almost had the feel of a goodbye on her lips. He won't let her go that easily. She motions to stand up, her hand already at the hem of her skirt bringing it back down to her knees.

"Will..." she breathes, a plea for him to unravel his arm from her body.

He doesn't budge though, squeezing just a little tighter. "Stay here with me, just for a little while," he begs of her, then propping himself up to stare down at her. She only shakes her head and rolls him off to the side and she makes her way of the bed, feeling the floor for her panties. He sighs at her denial, accepting it and proceeding to find his clothing and re-dress himself. Before he even has the chance to pull his pants to his waist, she opens the door by a fraction and leaves without warning.

* * *

When he reenters the room, she is back sitting in the same chair as before. Her expression though, is brighter, a shimmer of a smile on her face as the boy on the bed smiles back at her. He hadn't even noticed the young man was awake from the first few seconds her had opened the door.

"Uhm, hi," Will greets, and they both turn to look at him. Her gaze is only on him for a moment before a flash of emotion, guilt or shame- he can't tell, passes through her face and she averts her eyes.

"Hi," says the boy, the sound of his voice groggy. "What are you doing here?"

Will makes a face, not sure what to say and not sound inconsiderate. "I came to support Shelby, she was scared," he answers finally, a cordial smile on his lips. He isn't here for Jesse, he doesn't even like him very much, but his girlfriend does and he's more than willing to compromise anything for her sake.

Jesse nods with appreciation and he masks his resentment towards the older man, turning his eyes back to the woman at his side. She looks directly at him and there's a feel of desperation in her stare. _Don't say anything, please_, is the message. What she doesn't know is that he would never even think it, revealing her secrets would only hurt her. And he would never want to hurt the woman her loves. There's a subtle nod of his head to reassure her, and she squeezes his hand appreciatively.

"So you're doing good?" Will asks; fake concern, but he's just that polite.

"I was just telling Shelby that the doctor said I'm not out of the woods yet, but I'll be fine," he replies. There's a lot of falseness in both their tones, but they try their best to hide it. She doesn't need to handle that from either of them.

"That's great," Will concludes, feigning relief. He walks to Shelby's side, placing a hand to her shoulder. She's paralysed for a miniscule second, but then brings her hand up and rests it on top of his. She blinks then, looks up at him and they meet each others' gaze. A feeling of elation flows through his chest as they watch each other assuredly. He now knows everything is going to be fine.

Until there's a rapid beeping of machinery, a jostling of the bed and a sharp sound of a flat-lining heart monitor.

**Author's Note: **So, how'd you like it? I kind of took the story up a level, I think. Perhaps that's just my imagination. How about them cliffhanger apples though, eh? Please review and tell me what you think! Your reviews make rainbows grow in my blood-pumping aorta, aka my heart aka the thing that stopped beating inside Jesse. :P


	7. At The Threshold

**Author's Note:** Whoa, I am slow. Terribly sorry for this update after an entire month. I just haven't felt the muse, you know? Haha, I love how concerned people get about characters, I really do. I'm definitely aiming for you to go from disliking their decisions and then sympathizing with them. It makes me happpyyyy. :D ... Yeah, this chapter... it was tough to write.

**At the Threshold  
**

"Why won't they let us back in?" she asked rhetorically. He had absolutely no way of knowing the answer to her question and he didn't attempt to. He could already feel her starting to panic, though she hadn't said a word in the past few minutes. "It's not like they can say anything if I just walk in and see how he's doing, right?"

Preparing himself, he got up from his seat and put his hands to the side of her arms. "Honey, you can't do anything, okay?" he told her, eye-to-eye. "Just hope for the best, it'll work out. I'm sure he'll be okay." He wasn't sure of that at all. In fact, he believed quite the contrary, but he had to calm her fears and nerves. "Do you want some food? Coffee, maybe? Tea?" he asked, just doing his best to be helpful even if she wasn't asking for it.

"No, I'm okay," she muttered, plopping down onto the seat. She ran her hand through her hair, pushing the dark locks over to one side, trying to relieve her own stress. He sat back down beside her, putting an arm around her shoulders, trying his damnedest to be comforting.

In silence, they sat, though she continued fidgeting positions every few minutes, completely restless. At the sound of leather soled footsteps walking across the linoleum tiles, they both looked up. The doctor stopped before them, and they stood up, a serious look on all three faces. She was the first to speak though, "Well?" she asked imploringly, as though she had to intimidate the information from the man.

"I'm so sorry," he began, and she knew everything already. "Mr. St. James continued hemorrhaging regardless of our best efforts, the oedema around his heart was too much and he went into cardiac arrest, he expired at 3:28 AM. A formal autopsy will be conducted to confirm any and all possible complications or medical malpractice, however if you may wish..." The doctor continued with his explanation, which to her only seemed cold and distant. She'd stopped hearing anything he said after 'expired'; just the sound of the word, the meaning, the intonation, the meaninglessness of it, was too much.

She didn't respond, only began to shake her head rapidly from side to side. She wasn't able to catch her breath now, the sound of tearless crying came from her throat. In shock himself, he wrapped his arms around her waist pulling her in against him. She seemed paralysed for a long few minutes, numb in his arms.

"No," she breathed. "No, no, no, no, no." She struggled to escape his hold on her, elbowing him in the chest as she did. She was stronger than he had anticipated and the blows knocked the air out of him. She writhed in his arms, "Let me go!" she screamed, or as close to screaming as the toneless sound came. Her words were strangled, suffocating in her own disbelief.

He held her to him for dear life, hushing her softly. Watching her in agony, he felt tears sting at his own eyes. "It's okay," he murmured through hitching breath. "Baby, it's okay, shh, it's okay." As he did, she broke free of his grasp, running into the room, falling onto the bed where her dead lover lay.

"Wake up," she murmured to the shell of his body. "Your cruel jokes aren't funny, wake up." She grabbed onto his upper arm, attempting to jostle him back to life. "Wake up! I'm sorry I kicked you, okay? I'm sorry!" she bellowed through her futile attempts. She ran her hand harshly against his cheek. "Come on!"

At the threshold, Will leaned against the door frame, hands to his face, enclosing his nose and mouth as he watched her struggle with reality. She wasn't crying, but angrily denying what was right before her eyes. "Please," she sputtered.

He moved up behind her, scared she would hurt herself and wrapped his arms around her body, pulling her into him. The sound of her hollowed, raspy breathing paired with the screams she had only just emitted, rang through his ears, making him cringe as she lost her balance within his grip. He clung to her, letting her bury her head within his chest.

With each toneless gasp that escaped her mouth, he moved backwards supporting her as he found a chair against the wall and collapsed upon it; then shifting her, almost like a child, to sit across his lap, her legs curling up, holding her head beneath his chin. Beyond her varying hiccoughs and subdued whimpers, they sat in silence.

She still wouldn't cry.

**Author's Note:** So totally short, the next will be longer, I swear! Two more chapters to go, please leave a review, my darling readers.


	8. Saying Goodbyes To The Sky

**Author's Note:** This chapter, and story, is finally complete, after far too much fussing over it, adding, retracting, I've condensed what I was going to make two chapters to just this because it just felt like I was drawing things out and putting useless things in. I really hope you've all enjoyed reading! It's my first completed multi-chapter, woop!

**Silent Goodbyes To The Sky**

Standing in the doorway, he watched her with pure sympathy upon his face. He'd never seen the woman so wracked with devastation before. She was usually the epitome of composure, and now she was struggling to get her arm in her jacket's sleeve. Will moved from his fixed position, holding the sleeve out for her to shrug her hand into.

Picking out her outfit for the day wasn't difficult, just about everything she owned was black. The clothes reflected the person, and for Shelby, well, they reflected who she wanted people to see. "I look like a zombie," she said suddenly, a weak smirk at the man putting his own jacket on.

Will wasn't sure how to respond, she hadn't said much the past few days and here she was cracking a smile. "You look great, very Susan Sarandon," he said, making note of the dark circles that enveloped her hazel eyes. "You okay?" he asked, not really thinking it through, it was just a question that came from his mouth with little thought.

"I will be," she replied, turning her gaze to him. "I mean, that's what they say, right? I'm just going to get through the day." Shelby exhaled, standing up from her bed and walking into the adjoining bathroom. She brushed out her hair, something she had done twice already, but she didn't have much else to do. They had gotten ready too early on account of the fact that she wasn't sleeping much.

She left the room, grabbing her purse from the foyer and heading out toward the car – hers, but she got into the passenger side. He had insisted on driving the past few days, and she put up little fight. Will smacked his lips as he watched her get in the car; he followed suit. "Sure you're ready for this?" He asked, just to check one more time.

"Nope."

* * *

She took her seat in the fourth pew. She'd spoken to a few of Jesse's friends who had shown up early too. They were mulling around, giving condolences to his parents and siblings. Shelby, however, quickly made her way into the chapel, avoiding social contact. It wasn't the most uncommon behaviour for her anyhow.

She felt out of sorts, sitting in a Christian church, as any Jewish person would. But she wasn't focused much on that, just staring at the casket at the front below the cross. He wasn't particularly religious, nor were his parents, but it was the idea of the family faith that counted. In fact, Shelby mused on the fact that Jesse was agnostic. Of course, she figured, he probably wouldn't have paid any attention to the church; he'd be much more interested in seeing how many people showed up. He was, after all, in his own eyes, a star. The thought brought a meagre smirk to her lips, and she turned her head down – not wanting to be caught with a smile on her face.

The preacher made his way down the aisle, and Shelby watched as everyone started to shuffle into a seat. From the corner of her eye, she could spy Will talking with a few teenagers, nodding to whatever words were spoken between them. She watched him constantly glance over at her - every half minute or so, his eyes flickered towards her. It was unsettling, she found.

Finally, he made his way back to her, sitting down timidly and scooting in closer. She chose not to look up at him when he did so, staring at her hands instead. When one of his wrapped over hers, she then turned to face him. Will didn't speak, but she got the message; he was here for her.

Unwittingly, Shelby sniffled from the build up of congestion in her nose and water in her eyes. Her eyes grew red and it was clear she was fighting back tears. She hadn't a clue what it was from that touch that made her lose composure, but she turned her head away.

As her gaze flew to the other side of the bench, she saw another figure approach. Their eyes met, a similar look of solemnity upon their equally similar faces. Rachel paused, a hand upon the railing, keeping her gaze on Shelby – silently asking for permission to sit next to her. Softly, Shelby nodded and Rachel took her seat.

"I can't believe this is happening," Rachel said, after long moments of silence.

Shelby said nothing.

"Do you know what happened to him?" she continued, trying her darnedest to get a response from her mother.

Shelby shook her head. She wasn't sure she could lie quite so easily with actual words.

"I know you two were really close," she muttered, already giving up on trying.

Shelby snorted at that. She didn't know the half of it.

"What?" Rachel asked curiously. "You were, weren't you?"

"Yeah, we were."

The background music that had been playing as people entered began to rise, signalling the beginning of the service. Silence fell across the chapel, and Shelby prepared herself as best she could. But there was not a thing she could truly do at all.

One by one, a family member – his mother and sister, a childhood friend – a young girl, and his closest confidant – a boy in Vocal Adrenaline came up and spoke a few words. Shelby sat through it, mostly dazed, barely catching the words spoken. But when his mother stood up, supported by her other son – her only son now – and began to break down, Shelby felt sick to her stomach.

For a few more minutes, she sat through the service. Just as _Amazing Grace_ began to play, she stood from her seat and rushed out; the walls having begun to close in upon her. It was quite literal too, sweat had begun to form upon her brow, the distortion in her vision creating a claustrophobic mirage, it was overwhelming.

Outside, she stepped onto the lawn, staring out into the empty space of trees and long roads. The air was liberating, though her breathing was heavier than before. She wiped her eyes and face roughly, her hand thrashing to the side and she inhaled with fervour.

"Shelby," called a voice behind her and she turned back to face him.

"Go back inside, Will. I don't need your care right now," she responded loudly. They were still many metres apart.

"That's not why I came out here." She only stared at him confoundedly. "Just wanted to see you one last time." Her gaze became more scrutinizing. "You're leaving, aren't you? I know you, Shelby. Better than you think I do. And I know you're leaving." Will sighed, finally closing the distance between them, standing beside her. They weren't looking at one another, but once again at the horizon. "It was him," he stated.

"How did you...?"

"I didn't know... well, I did. But I wasn't sure. Now... It seems so obvious."

Shelby exhaled, her head falling. "I do love you, you know."

"You're still going to go." Will wasn't egging her on, or saying so in hopes of her doing the exact opposite. He was simply stating what he knew to be true.

"I love him– loved him, too."

"Yeah, I know," he replied, defeated.

"I'm so sorry." He nodded, and they lapsed into silence. For good, long minutes, they said their silent goodbyes to the sky – to each other. Finally, she turned around, heading towards her car.

"Where are you going to go?" he asked, though he doubted the truth.

"Somewhere far away," she replied. Getting in her silver car, she turned the key into ignition and pulled out of the drive. She faced the long road she'd be staring at for the past while and drove - drove until she couldn't even fathom the state Ohio for any longer.

**Author's Note:** My oh my... what catharsis I feel right now. I don't know what kind of ending anyone was expecting, but it was never going to end up happy. I just don't roll that way, I guess. Drop me a message, leave a review if you've read up to this point, or if you've just found it, I'd love to hear what you thought! Thank you so much for reading, xoxo!


End file.
